


Just Know You're Not Alone

by Chrisio



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gen, Happy Ending, It's kinda sad, Jack only really shows up at the end, Pre-Canon, Sad with a Happy Ending, before the musical, but it has a, i don't know where this came from, kinda just one origin story for Race, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 00:18:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13601517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrisio/pseuds/Chrisio
Summary: He remembers waiting.That's all he'd done, is wait. It's what he'd spent most of his life doing.He'd been waiting for his family to come back, just like they promised. And though it might take years, family always keeps its promises.





	Just Know You're Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a bit differently than I usually do. Not going to be a permanent style change, don't worry. This is just how it ended up happening. The dialogue is the most prominent change: It's in italics, and every line, if it's not continued from a previous line, is a different speaker. So if it's not a sentence running over into another line, the speaker's changed. So kind of like this:
> 
> [Person 1]
> 
> [Person 2]
> 
> [Person 1]
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry if it's confusing! I just started writing it like that and just went with it. Let me know what you think

He remembers waiting.

_Just wait here, Antonio. We'll be back by the time the weekend's over._

That wasn't long. He'd waited for that long before. So he waited in the house that wasn't his own, with his small bag of clothes to change into. His mama had a friend, one who was Italian like them, she'd told him. She was very nice, and so was her husband -- he'd met them before, but he might not remember them. But even if he remembered them or not, they were very nice people. And because they were friends with Mamma, and because they were nice people, they were going to take care of him while the rest of his family was away.

He remembers being excited to be visiting a new place. He remembers his mama crouching down, giving him a kiss on the forehead, and cupping his cheek with her hand.

_Goodbye, Antonio. We'll be back soon, okay? I promise we'll be back soon. Please remember I love you so much._

And he would smile, giving his familiar reply.

_I love you too, Mamma!_

The only thing that he thought was weird was how shiny her eyes were.

It was fun, after that. Zia Silvia, Mamma's friend, showed him around, and when he wasn't working, her husband Diego played with him and treated him no differently than his papa and brothers did. Antonio didn't know how much time passed, and he didn't bother to keep track. On one quiet day, though, with the sky gray and the rain sweeping down onto the streets of New York, Antonio found himself staring out the window, watching the storm pass by. Silvia had had a baby a while ago, and while the infant was sleeping, Silvia would be knitting, or reading, or baking bread or doing something else quiet around the small apartment they lived in. He had been given instructions to do something quiet. So while she was occupied with house chores, he had time to think.

_Zietta Silvia?_

_Yes, dear?_

_How long is a weekend?_

_A weekend is two days, Antonio. Saturday and Sunday._

_Has it been two days?_

_What?_

_Has it been two days?_

_Since when?_

_Since I came here. Mamma said they were going away for a little bit and then Isabella said they would come back by the time the weekend was over._

_...no, dearest. It hasn't been two days yet. Now come away from the window, let's see how well you can read, hm?_

Lies. He should have known she was lying. But he was small, and by the time he decided to question it, it had been too long. He had grown older. Bigger. The baby girl had grown larger and could now run around with the gleeful abandon of a 3-year-old. Silvia and Diego had had another child, and with two other children the apartment was starting to feel cramped, similar to the way the other one had felt with his parents and all his siblings.

He wondered where they were, now.

_Zietta Silvia?_

_Yes, darling?_

_When are Mamma and Papa going to come back?_

She'd pause with whatever she was doing, blinking in shock before trying to pass her reaction off casually.

_Soon, Antonio. Soon._

That was what she said every time. So he waited with questions unanswered. Where did his family go? What happened to them? Why did they leave?

Why was he left behind?

He never got a reply. He turned 9 later that year. He only remembered because Mama always used to keep track of their birthdays. He'd had the day drummed into his head by her insistence.  _There were so many kids,_  Mamma would joke, with a smile that would brighten the sun,  _and so many days. If I ever forget, then at least I know someone will remember._

He remembered. The year came and went. November came with a chill and left with blustery cold winds. He remembered turning 10. 10 years old -- if only Mamma could see him now. She'd smile and say how big he was, how grown-up he was getting. It wasn't much, but even imagining it, paired with the memory of her smile and the way she hugged, was the best birthday present he could imagine.

He remembers how things fell apart after that.

The winter was hard. It got cold frequently, and with the two other girls to take care of Antonio began to notice how much Silvia and Diego didn't smile anymore. There were more frowns than smiles, and they began to argue more. As winter blustered its way through, arguing became a new kind of normal, and Antonio watched as his two caretakers bickered their way through more and more long nights. It finally came to a head in early spring, when Diego came home drunk. Their arguing bled through the thin walls, and Antonio was left to take care of the girls. As he comforted them, tried soothing them, he tried listening in as best as he could. Maybe he could help?

His caretakers bickered through the night, and as the girls fell asleep again, he began picking up more bits and pieces. And while he didn't catch the entire argument, he heard enough to understand. They were arguing over him.

_It's hard enough making sure the girls get enough to eat. Why should we continue to barely scrape by when he's not even one of our own?_

_We can't. We promised-_

He didn't want to listen anymore.

He turned his head away, trying to make the words go quiet. It didn't work. It wasn't until they both became quiet that he fell asleep, and the rest of the day after he spent his time brooding.

They didn't want him anymore? Fine. He'd leave.

The next day, while Silvia was occupied with keeping the two girls busy, Antonio quietly packed his meager belongings into the bag he came with. After double-checking, he slipped out the window to the fire escape, climbing down until his feet hit the pavement. Almost in a sick sense of regret, he turned his head up to look at the window he just left from.

He couldn't even tell which one it was from down here.

Swallowing the worry in his throat, Antonio's attention turned to the street in front of him. People bustled on the sidewalk, all hurrying to their destinations, and he just stood there.

Now what?

He remembers standing on the sidewalk, fear mounting in his chest. And as if she heard his distress, Mamma's voice came to him from the back of his mind.

_If you're ever lost, go to the big rock just beyond the Central Park carousel. Find your way there and wait. Someone will be looking for you, I promise. Go there, and when they find you, they'll bring you home._

So that's where he ran.

He didn't know how he got there, but somehow Antonio found his way to Central Park -- the Big Park, his family called it. He had picked up a little bit of English by this point, though, knew its real name -- and as he raced through, dodged the crowds of people milling about, he found himself not even thinking about where his feet took him. He knew the way, and soon enough the carousel came into view. He breezed past that, crossing over the path and circling around the hill. At the bottom of the hill was the rock that his family liked to gather by when they came through. It was almost a relief, seeing something so familiar. So with the utmost care, he approached the rock, dusting off a place to sit and settling down, his bag next to him.

And that's where he waited. That rock was where Mamma told him to go if he was lost. He remembered that. And he was lost. Now that he was here, someone would be looking for him. Mamma or Papa or one of his brothers or sisters would be out looking for him, and then he'd be able to go home and be with them again.

He couldn't wait to see them again.

For the first time in a week, he slept easy. He waited through the first day with no problems. The second was harder, but he stayed put. He was a good kid, and if he had to leave to go find food, that...wasn't a problem, right? Surely Mamma would understand. Besides, if anyone got there when he was gone, they'd see his bag and know he hadn't left. Hopefully someone came while he was gone.

He rushed through his food-finding mission after that, hoping to see someone waiting for him when he got back. Even when he was greeted by only his bag, he just sighed. Well, it was getting to be nighttime. Whoever was coming needed to sleep too.

Tomorrow had to be the day. Three days was enough, right?

When he woke up the next morning, Antonio realized it wasn't the sunlight on his face that woke him up. It wasn't the hard ground that was making his arm ache the longer he laid on it, and it wasn't his small, lumpy bag of clothes that dug into one particular spot on his head. No, Antonio waited with baited breath, and soon the feeling of someone nudging his leg came again.

Someone was nudging his leg.

They came!

Antonio scrambled to roll over, eager to see which family member it was. Was it Papa?! Or maybe it was Marco, his oldest brother -- he had always carried Antonio back to the apartment when he had gotten tired when he was little. Maybe it was Isabella. Or maybe-

Maybe it was Mamma.

He almost pitched over, he clambered to his knees so fast.

_Hey kid, what'cha doin' here?_

He remembers how he didn't answer at first. No, he merely stared, wide-eyed, before his heart sank and he looked away. Before him was not his mother. It wasn't even a brother of his. No, in front of him was another boy, a stranger, with tan skin and curly black hair. He was dressed strangely- scruffy, kinda dirty like Antonio himself was, with mismatched trousers, vest, and a funny-looking cap perched on his head. Around his body, a bag was slung, and from this angle he could only just see the tips of newspapers that poked out. The boy tilted his head, and Antonio sighed before giving a shrug. The boy in front of him sighed as well, crouching down and fiddling with the strap of the bag around his neck.

_Nothing? You'se just sleeping under a rock 'cause you want to?_

Antonio shook his head in response to that.

_No. I'm waiting._

_Waiting?_

_Yeah._

_For who?_

_My mamma and papa. They said if I'm ever lost, I should come here. They'se gonna find me here and bring me home._

He didn't understand why the older boy looked so sad at that.

_Right, well. I sell by here 'n I've noticed you hangin' around the past couple of days. Know when your folks are gonna be around?_

Antonio shook his head again, which prompted a sigh out of him.

_'Course ya don't. Okay. Say, wanna stick with me for th' day? Help me sell my papes, and then I can take ya somewhere much better th'n a dusty ol' rock. We'll find your mom'n'pops and tell them where you are. That sound good?_

He almost wanted to accept. Almost. But there was one thing--

_Mamma told me to stay right here._

The boy in front of him looked stricken.

_Kid-- look. Just-....I don' want the bulls findin' ya. Dunno how they haven't yet, but....if they find ya, you're goin' somewhere your folks won't ever think to look._

_...bulls?_

_Bulls. The cops. Police?_

He nodded.

_Alright, good. Whaddaya say? Come with me?_

Antonio looked at the face of the boy in front of him. He looked earnest....and he did look worried. And Antonio didn't want to be taken by police....

He nodded, which caused the older boy to smile.

_Good kid._

He offered an ink-stained hand, and Antonio took it, hauling himself to his feet. The older boy straightens his scruffy clothes out, finally adjusting his cap before he looked Antonio up-and-down.

_How old're you?_

_10._

_If anyone asks, you're 8._

_Why?_

_Younger sells papes better._

He still didn't understand why this was relevant, but the boy seemed to know what he was talking about. So he just nodded, hoping to gain some comprehension soon.

_Right, here's what we're gonna do. You'se gonna help me sell my papes -- with that mug, I'll be out in no time -- 'n then after, I'll bring ya to the Lodgin' House. That sound good?_

Did it? He didn't know. But he nodded his head anyway. The older boy seemed pleased at that, and, after beckoning him with a wave, takes off striding. Antonio scrambled to catch up, but soon he was able to manage a pretty good pace to keep up.

_'Fore I forget: you got a name?_

Antonio's attention snapped up to his companion.

_What?_

_Your name, kid._

_Oh. Antonio._

_Antonio?_

He saw the boy's nose wrinkle, and he opened his mouth to defend himself. Before he could get a word out, however, he's interrupted.

_Long name for a short kid. Mind if I call ya Tony?_

_....I guess._

_Nice to meet'cha, Tony. I'm Smudge._

They didn't get to talk much after that. By the time they gleaned each other's names, they'd hit the edge of the park, and the throngs of people passing by were prime selling ground. Antonio-- Tony, now, as he was being called-- was sucked into the rhythm of Smudge's routine, and after a while he found himself looking up at a grinning newsboy, who reached down to ruffle his hair.

_What'd I tell ya, huh? Sold out already. And it's barely afternoon!_

He sighed, slinging his newsbag back over his shoulder and beckoning for Tony to follow.

_Come on, then. I got a promise to keep, don't I?_

Tony followed Smudge through alleys and roads, losing track of his bearings entirely. But that was okay -- so long as he didn't lose track of the newsboy in front of him, he'd be alright. And though he didn't lose focus on Smudge, he almost didn't notice the shoddy multistory that they'd stopped in front of.

It didn't look like much at first glance. It looked worn and rundown, the exterior (which looked more like a house) being at odds with the flat apartments surrounding it. It was brown, it looked old -- the bricks were discolored and the shutters were dusty from years of wind carrying smoke and dust particles through. The most noticeable thing on the front was the sign, proudly proclaiming it as the "Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House." It was...strange, in its own way, but by the way Smudge looked at it with a sense of pride, Tony thought it better to say anything bad about it. As they made their way to the front door, he thought he heard Smudge say something, though he couldn't be entirely sure.

_Welcome to the Lodgin' House, Tony._

At least, that was his best guess.

And that's where his life began to blur.

Antonio grew into his life as a newsboy, in more ways than one. He not only grew taller, but he grew louder, too. He was quicker, sharper, unable to sit still in the ways he used to, like sitting and watching the world pass by through the windows. The boys began to notice, called him something different than Tony. He didn't mind being called Race. It was nice, it stuck well. It had punch and personality, kept people around for a story or two as he reeled in a paper sale.

It didn't hurt every time he thought about it.

And so Tony grew into Race. Race grew into his job and his personality. And he remembers how as the older newsies aged out, he found himself aging into a sort of leadership among the others. It was a role he took on with another newsie, a fellow named Jack. A good kid, Jack Kelly, one that Race was more than thankful for developing a friendship with as time went on.

5 years passed since he first ran away.

He was 15, now. Jack was 17, unquestionably the leader of the ragtag group, and Race found himself in the position of second-in-command for the Manhattan newsies. It was work, but nothing too bad. He was grateful for his spot in the house, but sometimes he just needed a break from being in charge, from managing at least 10 other people. So in those times, he did what he was good at.

He ran away.

Most of the time, he went to the top of the fire escape. At that height, the buildings flattened out, giving an unparalleled view of the sky. Sometimes he just sat and stared, watching the sun sink lower in the sky. Other times he would lean against the rail, watching the people the size of ants down below and imagining what they were like. What would be the best way to sell them a paper? Did they like the exciting stories? The sappy ones? Where did they go to read it? Did they walk by Central Park at any point? Did they meet up with friends when they weren't working?

Did they have someone waiting for them when they got home that night?

Sometimes, he could stay up at the the top of the building for hours. Sometime in the evening, Jack would climb up, but by this point he was well-accustomed to these periodic events. He would just greet Race quietly, step around him, and go about his business. Sometimes he simply rearranged things before climbing back down. Other times he would sit down next to Race, a piece of scrap paper and a worn-down nub of charcoal in his hands, and get to work sketching anything he felt like. Other times, Jack sat down next to him and stared as well, watching the sun descend into the choppy, unbroken silhouette of the apartment buildings. When it finally left, and a gray twilight descended over the city, Jack would turn his head to look over at him.

_You good?_

Race would just shrug his shoulders and give the same answer.

_'M just thinkin'._

And Jack would nod his head, letting the conversation die in comfortable silence. While words died in the air, they didn't stop in Race's head, and soon he found himself lost in thought again, trailing after strings of words, a flash of memory, a shock of realization. It didn't take too long to come across one: if he tracked his months right, then November would be coming up soon. He'd be turning 16.

The thought was enough to make him blink. 16. Huh. It'd been almost 6 years since Smudge brought him here. Felt like only a few days ago he was a scared little kid trying to figure out how to live. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear Smudge's exact voice as he brought little Antonio through the door.

_Welcome to the Lodgin' House, Tony._

The Lodging House. The newsies.

During these nights, if Jack was still sitting beside him, Race would cast a sideways look at his friend. He would size him up, study him. Where would he be if Smudge hadn't found him that day in the park? What if he hadn't decided to come over and talk to the scared little kid under the rock, or taken him back to the house whose roof he now sat on? Would another newsie have found him? Would he have been found by the bulls? Would he have met any of the other newsies at a different point? If they met at a different time, would they still have become friends?

Friends.

Family.

Maybe not in the way he'd imagined it, but it was something he had nonetheless. And whether he liked it or not, this place, with the way it creaked and groaned, the way it hardly contained the racket within its walls, the way he could pick his way around despite the cluttered chaos littering every step, was imprinted in his bones, in the way he moved. This place, the boys, the job, it all stuck with him like the dust on the streets he walked every day. It was in the air he breathed, the smile he flashed, and the way his eyes glinted and his hands clenched when any of the younger kids came running to him for help.

He remembers his mother's words from so long ago:

 _If you're ever lost, go to the big rock just beyond the Central Park carousel. Find your way there and wait. Someone will be looking for you, I promise. Go there, and when they find you, they'll bring you home._   

Home.

Antonio finally found a home, though not in the way he had seen it happening.

No, it was better than he ever could have imagined.

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually not how I hc Race's origin story at allllll. Just been in a bit of a funk tonight and this is what came from it. Make of it as you will.
> 
> Oh, and Smudge got his name 'cause he's always got ink-smudged fingers. Guy grips the paper too hard the ink transfers to his hand and then the stains just get progressively worse through the day. Kinda like how pencil lead gets all on your hand after writing/drawing a while?
> 
> Anyways.
> 
> Come find me at my tumblr!: [@Schmilliam](https://schmilliam.tumblr.com/)


End file.
